


No Big Deal

by quartetship



Series: ADS Side Pieces [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Side Pieces: A Different Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No big deal, he told himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Big Deal

**Author's Note:**

> ADS!Jean has some thoughts about his roommate while he's laid up in bed. 
> 
> (And this one is 100% CANON to the 'A Different Song' timeline. Set during Jean's recovery from his ankle injury.)
> 
> A gift for tumblr/twitter user [boysblush](twitter.com/boysblush)
> 
> \--

Hearing the faint sound of Marco’s even, sleep-heavy breathing was something Jean was beyond familiar with. Nothing out of the ordinary, no big deal. But – lying in bed with his ankle still wrapped in a boot-like cast, wearing yet another pair of Marco’s slightly loose and unfairly soft jazz pants – it was a sound Jean had been waiting to hear for what felt like hours.

Ever since he'd first realized Marco had the power to make him melt just by carrying him three feet across the room – since he'd first helped Jean wriggle into a pair of  _his_  pants, since he'd taken to looking after Jean and  _touching_  him constantly – Jean had been battling waves of near- uncontrollable  _need._  And all nighttime did was make it worse. Much worse.

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't, and he knew that. But when the sound of Marco’s sleep punctuated the otherwise stiff silence of the room, Jean let his hand drift down his front, over muscles he didn't even realize were tense, fingers coming to linger over his aching cock.

It wasn't his fault, really. It was the cool softness of the cloth under his shaking fingers, the hot hardness right beneath it, the smell of Marco that he usually didn't even notice, clinging to the pillows and blankets he tried to muffle himself with. It was all a haze, clouding his judgement. He hadn't thought about a guy that way in so long, still stinging from the burn of the last time he had. But he was suddenly numb to that, numb to the voice somewhere in his head screaming for him to stop before it was too late; his senses were full of  _Marco,_  no room for anything else. He shoved a fistful of t-shirt into his mouth and bit down, hoping he was the only one who could hear his helpless whimpering.

It wasn't that he'd never entertained thoughts of how  _good_  Marco looked, how good he smelled, and  _tasted._  But letting himself think about being that close again was dangerous, because a moment later, he was imagining Marco’s lips dragging hot across his jaw, down his neck and over his shoulders. He could almost  _feel_  Marco nipping at his collarbone, running thumbs teasingly over his sensitive nipples. The hand that reached up to ghost across his chest was his own, but the image in his mind’s eye had him biting back a quiet, wavering moan.

Jean  _knew_  what it felt like to have Marco’s hands on him, to straddle his lap and press their bodies so close that no room was left between them. He knew what it was like to be held in Marco’s strong arms, to drape his own arms around Marco's neck and press his face into the skin there. He knew what Marco's lips felt like on his own. But what his mind offered him were things he could only imagine, things he didn't even realize he wanted, until his brain  _went there,_ of its own accord.

_Marco_  being the one tugging at his shirt, pulling it over his head and running hands frantically over his sweat-slicked chest.  _Marco_  mumbling breathy, filthy praises as he palmed hard at Jean’s dick, their breathing stuttering together as he rolled his hips up to grind their clothed arousals together.  _Marco_  pushing Jean’s pants down his legs, just enough to roughly grab hold of his cock, to rob Jean of his breath entirely.

But it was Jean’s hand, dipping below the waistband of his borrowed pants, squeezing himself hard to keep the thought of them being  _Marco’s_  pants from bringing him too far, too fast. He'd seen those same pants on Marco countless times, tighter on his larger frame, giving away the shape of his gorgeous ass, the bare outline of the bulge that made Jean’s eyes and mind linger. Part of him was still firmly in denial of having those kinds of thoughts about his roommate and best friend – Marco was supposed to be off limits, the voice reminded him. But giving into the need to relieve the tension tightening his every muscle, Jean elected to ignore that voice, just long enough to get himself off.

Marco was probably big, his mind offered. He would probably be more than a handful, more than a mouthful, and in the safety of his mind, Jean was happy to see just how much more. He imagined them back in his car, just like they'd been the night after the party. He imagined dropping from Marco’s lap, shoving the seat back as far as it would go to allow him to kneel between Marco’s knees, taking as much of him into his mouth as he could manage. In the quiet of the dorm room, he slipped fingers into his mouth, sucking hard and fighting the urge to moan around them as wetness slicked his chin.

Maybe Marco would be as impatient as Jean was. Maybe he would use those strong arms to haul Jean out of the floor of the car after a few minutes, back into his lap as he scrambled to push his own pants off and away. Maybe he would give Jean a few wet, messy strokes as he fumbled for condoms or lube or  _anything_  to take things further. Imagining him desperate and needy had Jean pumping himself with equal abandon, his breathing harsh and shallow as he repeatedly reminded himself that Marco was sleeping a few feet away.

There was a shuffling sound, likely Marco wriggling in his sleep, and Jean stilled for a moment, panicked. But then there was silence again, and – painfully hard and beginning to drip precome over the fingers wrapped around himself – Jean returned to his fantasy.

In his mind, Marco liked mess as much as Jean did. He would gasp and swear under his breath, knocked sideways by the way Jean looked, lips swollen and pink, as wet as his aching cock, begging for more of Marco's attention. And  _begging_  would be what Marco would do, too, manic in his need for Jean. He would  _beg_  to have him,  _beg_  to fuck him – and Jean would be happy to let him.

Bringing fingers back up to his mouth, Jean imagined sliding into Marco's lap, up on his knees so that Marco could line them up. Jean kept lube in his bedside drawer, but the noisy rattle of pulling it open was far too risky. He slicked his fingers as best he could and reached down to tease at his entrance, hissing at the feeling.

It had been too long since he'd fingered himself. Sharing a room both on campus and away every night, it had been ages since he'd had the opportunity. But he  _needed_  it, needed to feel himself stretched while he envisioned his hands as Marco's, working him open and whispering hot blooded nonsense in his ear.

The real Marco shifted again under his blankets, longer and louder this time, and Jean tried to keep still until he was again sure that Marco was asleep. But it was hard, with one finger already deep inside him and another teasing at the sensitive skin stretched around it. He worked the second finger in and  _whined,_  unable to stifle it. Marco moved sharply again, and Jean knew he needed to be more quiet.

Marco’s voice was unrecognizable in Jean’s mind, low and rough as he asked if Jean was ready. Jean nodded around another whine, and only when he heard a quiet rustle from across the room did he realize he'd done so loud enough to be heard. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and slid both of his fingers as deep as he could take them, imagining the dull burn of the stretch he felt being from Marco’s cock, slowly spreading him open as he sank down onto it.

Holding back the shivering moan at that thought was impossible, and Jean was too far gone to worry about the way Marco wriggled a few feet away. He fucked himself on his hands, barely holding back his panting breath as he imagined –  _wished_  – he was taking Marco's dick, instead. He wouldn't last long, he knew; it was too good, even if it was only in his mind. Knowing he was already pushing his luck well past its limit, he didn't try to hold off any longer.

He thought about Marco, hips snapping up and pounding into him as he spilled a chorus of curses all over both of them. He imagined the fingers wrapping tight around him were Marco’s, urging Jean to come for him. He wondered just what Marco would look like,  _sound_  like as he came, hips stuttering as he chanted praises and slurred Jean’s name until everything was shattered, shaky moans and breathy sighs.

And he came  _all fucking over_  himself.

At least it was quiet. All breath stolen by his mental imagery, Jean was left with nothing but a silent scream, a strangled gasp as he spilled hot over his hand, his stomach, and up his chest. He struggled not to let his breath heave afterward, trying to catch and steady it so as not to wake his roommate. But Marco was perfectly quiet, still as if nothing had happened, and Jean sighed his relief.

Using his discarded shirt to towel himself off, Jean tugged his borrowed pants back up onto his hips and fumbled through his blankets to get himself loose from them. He hooked his good foot through the open bars of the crutch propped by his bed, pulling it over to help him stand, then opted to leave it behind as he carefully, quietly slipped from the room and headed down the hall to the bathrooms.

Washing his hands and face and rinsing the uncomfortable stickiness from his stomach, Jean glanced up to catch sight of himself in the mirror. The glow of what he'd just done still lit his cheeks, but they might've been a little pink from something more than an orgasm. He couldn't even bring himself to think about the things he'd just imagined, outside the safety of his dark room. In the harsh, fluorescent light of the bathroom, reality was clearer.

He'd just gotten off to the thought of fucking his best friend.

It was no big deal, he told himself, running a wet hand through his hair. There was no denying that Marco was attractive, and that Jean would probably,  _definitely_  have sex with him if given the opportunity. But  _lots_  of people were hot – fantasizing about them didn't mean anything. And since Marco was nowhere near interested in  _giving_  him said chance, Jean didn't really have much to worry about. He'd just needed to get off, and he did what he had to. No. Big. Deal.

Shuffling quietly back into the dorm room a few minutes later, Jean found Marco face down, snoring contentedly. In the light of the cracked door, he could see a t-shirt wadded up at the end of Marco’s bed that he hadn't noticed before, despite Marco's recent attempts to keep things tidy of to Jean’ standards. Jean carefully picked it up and tossed it toward the laundry basket, almost able to feel Marco’s warmth, still lingering in the crumpled fabric.

Settling back on his own bed, Jean looked at Marco’s peaceful face, lit only by filtered moonlight, and smiled. A Rush of affection tightened his chest, probably just the remnants of the waking dreams he'd just pulled his head out of. Something in him wanted to cross the room and let an arm drape across Marco’s sleeping shoulders, rest his head there, maybe even press a kiss there. 

But he didn't. He wouldn't.

Because  _that_  would've been a very big deal.


End file.
